AirHead Richard
by Suikorin
Summary: [S5] Mueller had always seen airhead Richard as a necessary evil. But what if the airhead is someone who's more than he seems?
1. Chapter 1

S5Richard

Summary: Richard had always been a pleasant young man who is much too happy for (and obsessed about) Mueller. Mueller had always seen Richard as a necessary evil because Richard was a talented sword wielding air-head. But what if the air-head was someone who's more than he seems?

Disclaimer: Suikoden series belongs to Konami and its affiliates. This short story is written purely for entertainment purposes and shall not be reproduced for profit. (As if anyone would sell this story.)

**Air-Head Richards**

**Chapter 1 - Lindwurm Runt**

"Runt," was Mueller's first word to the applicant. Mueller was a tall, overly lanky man who was all limbs and seriousness. Some people would say that he was nearly deformed with his spaghetti arms that would wrap around a person twice. However, no one dared voice that opinion as Mueller was the vice-commander of the Lindwurm Mercenary Brigade, a really mean and scary one at that.

"I'm no runt," the child standing opposite of him defended.

Mueller did not even pretend sincerity and looked at him up and down once. Then he bluntly discarded the sheet of paper before him. "You look like a completely and utterly consummate runt, like those mischevious urchins I met in Gordius. Come back when you manage to hit puberty, or should I say when it hits you?"

They were in a makeshift tent, open in the front. Mueller sat taller than the the standing person who was between child and adulthood. The Lindwurm Mercenary Brigade was openly recruiting again so they set up shop at a random town.

"But Mister Mueller!" protested the puny looking swordsman. He had a round face and a much too agreeable countenance that could make zombies melt at its mere adorableness. "I'm really good on horseback and I'm an awesome swordsman! Please let me join. You won't regret it," he urged, fidgeting as if he was in a perpetual sugar high.

"We are a mercenary brigade, not a daycare," said Mueller clearly and impatiently. Every year, something like this always happened. Some idiot kids would come, pretending they were excellent swordsman or something. Did they really think some ordinary peon could enter their honorable Brigade? What a waste of time and money. And how the hell did this shrimp know his name? "We don't accept little boys who aren't over twelve. You don't even look like you can lift a sword!"

The boy pouted. "But I'm over twenty! And I'm no boy! I'm a swordsman!" he insisted earnestly. "A really good one! Let me show you!"

"Shut your complaining and go home. The Lindwurm Mercenary Brigade does not have room for babies."

The boy's face scrunched up. His shoulder started to shake and his eyes sparkled with withheld tears and he buried his face in his hands. Soon, he emitted what was probably the most pathetic cry Mueller had ever heard in his entire life.

Others passing by the tent stopped. The men whispered to each other disapprovingly. The veiled women narrowed their eyes and began to whisper with frowns on their faces to each other. Mothers tugged their children closer and began to give them lectures about morals. One of them, wearing a lavish shroud, looked to be the lady mistress of the town mayor. She took on a self-righteous look then went off in the direction of the peacekeeper's tent.

"Stop it!" yelled Mueller as the boy's cry became progressively louder and louder. Finally, Mueller took the matter into his own hands and grabbed the boy by the shoulder and clamped the whining boy's mouth shut with long thin fingers.

The boy bit Mueller's hand hard.

"Ow!"

The boy kept on crying.

"What the hell is going on here!" cried Wilhelm, coming back into the tent. He was out scouting at the local taverns for regulars who might make it in the Brigade. They needed some levity in their prospering little brigade since Mueller had the tendency to attract the most boring and tedious men.

The boy paused to look at Wilhelm. For that one precious moment, the boy was silent, taking in Wilhelm's rough features and hot-pink hair, but then he started emitting that awful noise again.

"Shut up!" yelled Mueller to no avail. He looked to his partner in crime, his eyes livid. It it were not for his sense of honor, he would have knocked the boy senseless! "This little _pest_ came in here, demanding to be a member of the Lindwurm Mercenaries!" said Mueller.

"I'm no pest!" said the boy between heaving breaths. "I can fight. Really!" Then he broke down again. "I just want a place to belong!"

Wilhelm took a hard look at the boy. He noticed the round face and soft sandy hair immediately. "Awww..." crooned Wilhelm. He had never met someone so adorable and pathetic looking. His heart was moved. "Is the little boy missing his mommy?"

The sob turned into a horrid, ear-drum shattering wail. "Wahhh...I don't have a mommy anymore...Wahhh!"

"By the True Earth Rune, STOP CRYING!" said Mueller, his temper rising.

"Relax!" yelled Wilhelm over the wailing. "Hey, boy! If you stop crying within ten seconds, I'll give you a chance as a Lindwurm Mercenary! What do you say?"

As if some sadistic God was exercising its cruel humor, the boy stopped crying. His tears magically disappeared and a smile plastered itself on his face again. "Okay!" he said in an overly bubbly cheerful voice.

"That's it?" growled Mueller. He could not believe how easy that was.

The boy nodded, now just as happy as he first came in.

Wilhelm's ears were still ringing hard. "By the True Water! I don't think I've heard such a sound since the Sword and Shield!" He laughed suddenly. It was a good natured laugh. "I like that. What's your name, boy?"

The boy's beaming smile was so blinding, he blinded the blind. "Richard!"

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Mueller scowled so hard that his face was about to crack from the effort. In his hand was a clipboard thick with papers. The application stage was complete. Now it was time for the most tedious part: the selection by demonstration.

Before him were some of the new recruits, whimpering and shaking in their boots before one of the veterans of the Lindwurm Mercenary. The veteran was an angry looking man with a nasty scar down his right eye. His name was Saich.

Saich wielded a mean-looking halberd. He was a stout and sturdy fellow. His neck and legs were thick like tree trunks with arms that seemed capable of snapping his own weapon into two. Of the Lindwurm, Saich was one of the rougher fellows who had only been defeated by two people.

Mueller did not like him too much for two reasons. For one, Saich was a brainless boastful fellow, listening only to his physical superiors. There were not too many a time when a job went sour because Saich decided that brawn was worth more than brains. One could only expect so much from a northerner. For the other, to be delicately described, Saich did not believe in personal hygiene.

Saich cackled happily as he hefted his halberd, striking the new recruits with the blunt end just light enough not to kill anyone, but hard enough to earn death moaning.

"Who else is good enough to face me?" sneered Saich as he looked around the dozen or so groaning bodies around him. "Get up!" he roared at one of the recruits before giving him a rough poke with his halberd. Then he smiled, a grotesque smile that could shatter mirrors. "Are there no men in this camp? Are you all little pant-wetting pussies who can't even touch a mere fellow mercenary?" he bellowed.

"I bet I can!" sang a voice that was all together too sweet.

"Then come! Face me!" said Saich. He stomped his thick legs in impatient anticipation.

Richard, with his innocent vapid smile, stepped into the ring.

"A bug?" questioned Saich, outraged. He looked to Mueller who was rubbing his temple as if suffering from an excruciating headache. "You want **me** to to fight a bug?"

The younger man frown as he looked up to a man who was about four heads taller than him. Then Richard's face contorted into obvious hurt. "Mister Mueller, he's calling me names."

Mueller's judgment was swift. He whipped out his steel bo and donked Saich painfully on the head. "Get to work! I didn't f#$! pay you to whine," he ordered, more in spite of Saich's arrogance than Richard's complaint.

"#$& tyrant," grumbled Saich, rubbing the back of his head. Darn that drill sergeant!

Mueller donked him again. "Shut your trap and get to work you worthless scumbag."

With that beginning tirade done, Saich took on an annoyed expression. He widened his stance, planting his foot firmly on the ground. "Don't cry home to mommy if you get hurt!" he growled irritatedly.

Richard giggled, a very devilish girly giggle. "I get accepted into the Lindwurm Mercenary if I defeat him, right?" he asked happily.

"Yes," snapped Mueller impatiently. "Get on with it. There are forty applicants after you."

"Okay!" With the same extreme happiness, Richard pulled out a rapier with his left hand. He tossed it into the air, bedazzling the onlookers with the quick intricate loops of the rapier before snatching it with his right hand. "Ready?" he asked Saich.

"Arrrrg!" yelled Saich as he raised the bladed end, thrusting it with speed toward Richard's smiling face.

Richard's counter matched Saich's speed. He swung his rapier upward just in time to parry a complete facial impalement. His eyes narrowed into merry little slits of excitement as if he were being showered with sweets.

"Take this!" growled Saich as he pulled back for another attack. He aimed for the leg, using his entire weight to build up centrifugal acceleration.

Once again, Richard deflected the attack with a light twist of his wrist. He directed the bladed end of the halberd upward, allowing it to fly harmlessly over his head.

Saich was getting madder by the minute. He tried again and again, each time, Richard parrying his attack with that needle-like toy of his. What made him even more angry was how this little _bug_ dared to smile so disgustingly wide and innocent. There was no trace of concentration or strain as Richard twirled left and right as if he was some desert ragamuffin frolicking in the rain.

The recently beat-up recruits and rejects became interested in this little spar. Their bleary teary eyes suddenly became sparkles of hope. Saich had defeated everyone who came to him so far and insulted them as he went along. Thus, the neophytes cheered on their random young hero with vigor and vengeance.

Mueller, however, was still scowling. He tapped on his clipboard as if attempting to drill a hole through the metal board. The fight had lasted over five minutes, meaning he could only process a measly twelve applicants an hour. "Hurry up!" he yelled. "I'll have both of your heads if you don't finish this fight within the next minute!"

"Okay!" said Richard. He then lunged forward during one of Saich's recovering swings. A quick twirl of his rapier, he locked the halberd between the hand guard and blade then flipped the halberd right out of Saich's hand. The halberd flew into the air and Richard caught it easily with his left hand.

"Yield," he said with the same sing song voice, not even breaking a sweat.

There was an awed silence before a defening applause and hoot went through the trial area.

Richard's returning grin exuded a happiness that could overwhelm any onlooker like an island-annihilating tsunami. "Hey Mueller! I'm a Lindwurm Mercenary now, Right?"

Somehow, about three veins near Mueller's temple's popped and he grined his treeth as he spoke.

"Yes."

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Suikorin


	2. Chapter 2

**Air Head Richard**

**Chapter 2: First Mission Part 1 - Assignment**

The capital of Zelant was an orderly sort of place. The streets were impeccably sterile. The buildings were squared off into concise practical cubes and stacked right next to and on top of each other. The shops were as boxy and drab as the rest of the city, selling only the rudimentary items of survival. All men and women walked the streets with that regimented precision and many wore heavy mail armor. The city was walled off by a thirty-foot-thick wall that was sixty feet high. The center of the city was a bigger utilitarian box than the rest which housed the royal household of Zelant.

Mueller carried his characteristic scowl as he went into a semi-important looking square building in the business district. The greatest service Zelant had to offer to its neighbors was superior cavalry for money. Many people had their private military, their loyalty first to potch, then the crown. Wilhelm and Mueller's Lindwurm Mercenary Brigade were no different from the many others who sold their warrior prowess to the highest bidder. The only difference was the size of the Brigade. Lindwurm happened to be one of the largest mercenary brigades in all of Zelant.

For the Lindwurms, the sheer size of over two-thousand able-bodied men for hire required an administrative office to delegate jobs for small units. Wealthy barons, counts and even bandits had found the Lindwurm could offer all type of services, from head on wars against neighbors to dark alley assassinations. These clients, however, found having the entire brigade within their borders intimidating and typically only asked for a unit of fifty men at a time.

During this particular time, Mueller received a priestly looking man from Nagarea. The man wore a pristine white robe with a heavy cowl that hid his face. "Eunuch Igan would like to request four units to protect an important treasure from highway bandits."

Mueller pursed his lips in thought. Nagarea was an unusual theocratic nation. Much of their lives revolved around prayer and worship of a serpent priestess who was considered a golden Goddess in flesh. If someone displeased the Goddess, it was said that their heart was cut out and burned. Falena, however, was even more unusual by comparison. In Falena, the gladiatorial tournaments determined the companion for their absolute Queen ruler. Rumor spread that the odd tradition had doomed the current queen to marriage with an unruly barbarian.

"The standard asking price is twenty thousand potch per unit per month," said Mueller, rattling the terms casually.

The man obviously winced a bit. "It's only highway bandits. How about five thousand potch per unit per month? Eunuch Igan only requires recruits, not veterans."

At this statement, Mueller raised his eyebrows. Typical Nagarist were so involved with their groveling that they forget haggling. Mueller would actually have to use a brain cell to out bargain this unusual Nagarist. "That is impossible. Recruits are only good if they come back alive. There must be veterans."

"The bandits are nothing more than outcasts with pitchforks."

"Ever seen a pitchforked man?" countered Mueller. "It's quite gruesome, and people have invented many different ways to kill a man with pitchforks."

The priest turned his head, thinking a bit. "How about this…you give me four units and I pay ten-thousand potch per unit up front. If the treasure is delivered safely to Sol-Falena, then I will pay the other ten-thousand potch per soldier."

"Up front," said Mueller. "I have no guarantee that any of them will come back alive."

"Then I guess we will..."

The priest was suddenly cut off by the explosion of the door shattering into tiny little pieces. Three mercenaries rolled into the office, one of them with flaming flamingo hair.

Mueller's famous temple vein popped and his neutral negotiating expression turned into a murderous frown.

Richard ran in, swinging a pitchfork like a child's toy bat. "Alright! I win this round!"

Wilhelm, the Brigade leader of all the Zelant Lindwurm gaffed cacophonously as he got up. The other two mercenaries immediately put their index finger into their wax-filled ears, trying to block out the obstreperous laughter. Mueller shook.

"Ooo, That tickled!" said Wilhelm, wiping out a thick pink paint-dappled club. "Get ready for revenge!"

"Come on! I can take you on any day of the week!" cried Richard, swinging the pokey part of the pitchfork high up in the air.

"Richard!" yelled Mueller. "What the hell are you doing!?"

Richard blinked as if he never noticed the vice-captain. The rest of the people, Wilhelm and the other two all stopped in mid-action. Then after five seconds of silence, the pitchfork dropped unceremoniously. Wilhelm wiggled to get away from the volcano ready to explode.

"Um...Um..." Richard looked down, rightfully ashamed.

Mueller jumped up from behind his desk, two stepped and he was already at the door, stopping the guilty four from going further.

"You two!" yelled Mueller at the two accomplices. "Laundry duty!"

The two accomplices just stared, shocked by such kindness. Mueller was famed for having the best unit of all Zelant, but he also famed for doling out some of the most merciless beating to those who looked at him funny. Laundry duty was like everlasting mercy from the True Rune of Punishment.

"Don't just sit there!" yelled Mueller again, enraged.

Those two scrambled away like a couple of frightened rats.

"And you!" Mueller glared at Richard.

The boy immediately cringed as if trying to will himself out of existence.

"I want you to get back to the camping compounds and stay there until notified of your punishment."

"I'll pay the twenty-thousand potch," interrupted the priest. "Up front."

"What?"

The priest, momentarily forgotten, stepped close to Richard. "One unit only," the priest said, kneeling down, aggressively grabbing a hold of Richard's chin, tilting the innocent looking eyes toward him. "And I want this one to lead it."

"Out of the question," said Mueller, finding his calm once again. "He is a new recruit, with no experience, no combat training, no..."

"Forty-thousand then," said the priest. "Or sixty-thousand, veterans or recruits. It does not matter. Under the condition that this boy leads his own unit. I'll ensure their survival upon return."

"Then it's a deal!" said Wilhelm, getting on his feet and picking up the beating toys.

"Good," said the priest. "You shall be paid and contacted in three days time. Now if you'll excuse me, it's about time to destitute Eunuch Igan."

Without the previous sniveling, the priest in white robe paced calmly out of the door.

"Now that's a deal!" boasted Wilhelm. "Sixty-thousand for one unit! That's three times the asking price!"

Having such a bargain mollified Mueller's rage. He stood there, almost stunned as a small smile slowly graced his lips. He even got down to help Richard up.

"What's the matter with you?" asked Mueller impatiently. He dragged Richard to his feet, but it seemed that Richard was making no effort to stand. In fact he was shaking, in complete fear.

"What intense eyes!" breathed Richard.

"He's a Nagarist," snapped Mueller, presuming to know what had frightened Richard. He had seen a real pure blood Nagarist without their face covering shawls. Man! He was freaked out the first time around. "They all have intense eyes."

"Must be! I thought he was going to turn me into ashes with that stare!" Then, with his previous ebullience, Richard jumped up and waltzed back outside

"Nagarists," said Wilhelm with a sigh. "I heard that their women are exceedingly handsome. Do you know they wear almost nothing? Some women even go around in loin cloths only. By the way, what's the name of that priest?"

Mueller picked up a letter of correspondence. He read through the request for the unit and the mention of the name.

"Hum...Lazarus."

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AN: Drop me a PM if you see a lot of mistakes because I'm not sure if I've beta-ed this or not.


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